


Zen and the Art of Winchester Maintenance

by dapatty



Series: Maintaining Winchesters [1]
Category: Life, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:56:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was busy running to some demon omens and ran into Charlie Crews instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zen and the Art of Winchester Maintenance

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings/Spoilers:** NC-17 for Slash, fruit eating,  & a Zen detective. AU for Spn 4.9 "I know what you did last summer" so spoilers through that and general for Life 2:10 to be safe.  
>  **Author's Note:** I didn't mean for this to be so long, I just mentioned I had an idea for a crossover to Amy and she sent me a ficlet of awesome (the first section is mostly hers) that I couldn't not expand on. This is for her.  
>  Shiny artwork can be found [here](http://pics.livejournal.com/davincis_girl/pic/00005ser/) Bonus Orange Grove Sex at the end.

Sam cursed at the strobing lights and pulled over, hands sweating as he pulled out his least-suspicious ID and registration. He hated cities a lot more lately. It had been easier with Dean, feeling like they were in it together. If it weren’t for the omens on top of a lead on a priestess who might know something, he’d be looking in Kansas for that fairy hill he’d heard about. That would have been quiet. Fewer people. Fewer police in disturbingly shiny black cars. He rolled down his window and looked in the rearview at the guy in the suit. Badge, check. Gun, check. Eating a bag of…tomatoes?

The cop walked up to Sam’s door, tossing a stem over his shoulder. He looked at Sam, and swallowed, smiled, and proffered the small paper bag. “Persimmon?”

“Uh,” Sam said intelligently.

“It’s okay, I grew’em myself. They’re perfectly ripe, I don’t mind saying. Try one.”

Sam could hear Dean in his head. _The crazy man with the bigass gun wants you to eat a freaky little tomato, Sam. I’d eat it. Hey, might be tasty._ Sam blinked, trying to appear harmless and like he wasn’t hallucinating the voice of his very dead brother, and reached for one of the little fruits.

“Thanks,” It _was_ tasty.

“This is a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, isn’t it?” The officer ruffled his ginger hair and looked up and down the black car his sunglasses reflecting in the light.

“Yessir.”

“It’s not a 1994 Ford Aspire, is it? They’re two very different cars, I’m pretty sure.” He gestured with the paper bag, and smiled crookedly. Somehow, Sam wanted to agree with that smile. It was a weird smile for a police officer.

 _Detective, moron._ Dean’s voice again. _Cops aren’t big on ties, Sam, not even in LA._

“Yeah,” said Sam, answering both of them.

“I’m Detective Crews. You’re car isn’t an Aspire, and it’s not in an impound lot in Indiana. Also, you have a broken tail light, which is why I pulled you over and ran your plates.”

 _If I weren’t dead, I’d kill your ass,_ grumbles Dean’s voice. _Where’d you break my tail light?_

“Sorry.” Sam was getting better at this. “I’ll fix it?”

“If I had a broken tail light, I’d fix it. If I had some plates on my car that were attached to not only records of a different car, but also vague records from across the country with phrases like ‘sudden weather phenomena’ and ‘mass confusion,’ I might see if I could get some different plates. But y’know, everything passes. Everything changes. Change is the only constant. Which is kinda funny if you think about it. Another persimmon?”

Sam blinked, kept his mouth shut, and took another. Still tasty.

“This is the sort of car you might get attached to,” Crews mused, giving the cab a gentle pat.

“Yeah,” Sam looked at the keys clutched in his hand.

“But you’re not. Attached, I mean. To the car. You’re attached to someone _attached_ to the car.”

“He’s dead,” Sam blurted, eyes widening as he realized what he’d just said. Police, as a general rule, did not make Sam want to talk. Nor did they have endearing grins and freckles on their noses. They did not tend fruit gardens or make insightful comments about automobiles and the impermanence of the universe.

“Those who are watchful never die: those who do not watch are already dead. It’s important to watch, ‘cause things just keep happening. Like my wife marrying someone else. That happened. I like to pull him over, too.” Crews munched thoughtfully, and crumpled the empty bag into his pocket. “Sometimes, weird things happen. You might not see them, but you have to be watchful anyway. This is my card. If you were to fix you tail light and your plates, it would be a lot easier to talk to you, especially if you were still in town. If you need help with your repairs, Fred’s Garage is a useful establishment. Here’s their number. Have a nice day.”

Dean was humming the Twilight Zone theme in Sam’s head as the crazy detective drove away.

Sam turned the cards over in his hand. The intellectual part of him and the ghost of Dean’s voice told him to leave LA immediately. Just turn around. Screw the omens and the priestess. Just drive. Safer is better. But his gut told him otherwise. This was just where he needed to be.

He had been running scared, determined for a month and a half. Frantically turning over every rock to find a way to bring his brother back. If change was the only constant, maybe stopping for a minute in this city was what he needed to do.

He flipped open his phone and dialed the garage.

*******  
It turned out that Fred’s Garage was a chop shop of some modest reputation, which didn’t surprise Sam. At the mention of Crews’ name, the owner was almost friendly to him. Fred warned him not to let Crews drive his car, though—something about every fine piece of mobile machinery in Crews’ possession being destroyed.

He got the taillight fixed for cheap, and a new set of mostly legal Ohio plates and registration for not-so-cheap, all before late afternoon. He even got it insured since the faulty paperwork was so good. Of course, that had nothing to do with thinking the car would be in danger from Detective Crews. Sam had no intention of seeing him again. Well, maybe a little tiny intention.

No matter, he had a priestess to meet. Missouri Mosley knew a guy who knew a girl who knew a shopkeep who knew the priestess, and had set up the meeting for Sam at a park in West Hollywood.

He arrived just in time, barely managing a hello before the woman standing in front of him said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Sam asked, already knowing what she would say, what they’d all said.

“I can’t help you get your brother back,” she looked so sorrowful, even in her white sundress and bangles. They always looked like that. “No one of this realm can, Sam. Not even you.”

“There has to be a way,” Sam insisted. “Some whisper of something you’ve heard. Anything. Please.”

“No, there isn’t.” She shook her head. “I just wanted to tell you in person. You deserve that. Besides, you’ll need these for the demons you’ll run into.” She handed him sachets of herbs and a couple flasks of holy water.

He wanted to be angry with her. He wanted to yell at her. Demand she give him something to go on—anything but give him tools for the job. He just didn’t have the energy. He felt cold and bone-tired. Nobody watched his back. Nobody made him stop for a rest and some pie. Nobody argued with him.

He felt some more of his hope slide away as he walked back to the car.

*******

Sam didn’t pay attention to where he was driving after he left West Hollywood. He found himself somewhere downtown and parked.

He got out of the car to stretch his legs and leaned on the fender. His stomach rumbled with hunger and he realized he hadn’t really eaten anything since those damn tomato thingys the Detective gave him this morning and coffee at that garage.

 _Sammy, I raised you better than this,_ he could hear Dean say. _Not even a cheeseburger?_

He stuck his hand in his pocket to retrieve his wallet and came out with Detective Crews’ card. Before he knew it, he had pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number.

 _Sam, You’re not calling that crazy detective , are you?_ Dean asked in his head. He could just see his brother lift his eyebrow with that question. _Isn’t that a little stupid?_

Before he found the sense to end the call, someone answered.

“Detective Crews’ phone,” a male voice answered, not the voice from this morning.

“Uh hi, I was trying to reach Detective Crews, well, obviously. And I guess he’s busy so—.”

“Oh, he’s not busy, he’s just watering the plants. And _talking to them_ ,” the man muttered. “Here.”

Sam could hear the man talking to Crews telling the detective that some kid wanted to speak to him. Sam wanted to laugh. It had been a while since anyone had thought of him as a kid.

“Crews,” the detective said cheerfully. There was the voice Sam remembered.

“Hi Detective,” Sam said, fought the urge to just hang up the phone. This was stupid. This was crazy. Maybe even buckets of crazy. He was a presumed dead, ex-wanted man, drawing additional attention from an officer of the law. On purpose.

 _Yeah, but he gave you fruit and didn’t even write you a ticket_ , Dean’s voice reasoned. Sam grit his teeth to keep from talking back to his illusory two-faced brother.

“Ah, Mr. ‘67 Chevy Impala. Call me Charlie. You get that tailight straightened out?”

“Yeah, it’s fixed. You can call me Sam. Do you… do you think it’s possible to change something unchangeable? Something that seems to be forged out of a universal truth that no one seems able to bend no matter what?” Sam blinked at his own words, realized what he said, and stunned himself into silence. It’s not good when desperation sneaks out into a normal conversation. As normal as a conversation with a grinning Zen detective gets, anyway.

“Hmm,” the Detective—Charlie, mumbled thoughtfully. “But everything changes. Nothing is immovable. Even mountains are moving. The land is moving. Sometimes we tell strangers the absolute truth without provocation. Anything can be changed with enough force if it’s willing to be changed. What is it you’re trying to change, Sam?”

“Funny thing. That garage you sent me to be really more like a reputable chop shop.” Sam deflected, trying to pull himself together. Dean would be proud.

“Was that a problem?” Crews asked, riding the change in conversation like a wave, while making clanging noises with some sort of pan on his end.

“No, it just was a little surprising.”

“Was that bad surprising? I did buy a sweet ride from them a couple months ago. It was very street. Tight. Might have even made me a playa, given me some ‘cred.’ Of course, I had to get a different ride after Ted ran over mine with my tractor.”

Sam decided that this was one of the more surreal conversations he’d ever had, and that was saying something. “You have a tractor? Wait, who’s Ted?”

“Ted is my accountant. The man who answered my phone and is going to help me make dinner. He makes a mean tomato bisque.”

“I bet he does,” Sam’s stomach rumbled audibly at the mere thought.

“You should join us. The weather is too nice to enjoy it alone.”

“I couldn’t impose,” Sam said, but he wanted to. He could practically smell it through the phone, and to have a home cooked meal with someone who so casually invited him—who was such a mystery unto himself—was almost too much to resist.

“I insist that you impose. So I’ll see you in a half hour, forty-five minutes,” Charlie chirped and gave Sam directions, then hung up, leaving Sam to stare in disbelief at the address.

He decided to do some quick research before driving to the hills.

******

Sam parked on the front drive beside Charlie’s shiny black car that he thought might be Italian. _It’s a Maserati._ “I knew that,” Sam said aloud, then winced. It still looked just as shiny as it did that morning, though a lot less imposing. Of course, it was parked in a place where lots of other shiny cars and their owners lived.

As he got out, he resisted the urge to take any weaponry with him. He was fairly certain that wouldn’t give a good impression. Given his limited research, he didn’t know what he thought about Crews. The man was a puzzle. On the other hand, Sam suspected that he always would be – but hoped he wasn’t a dangerous one. He approached the house with the usual caution and noticed that a lot of the lights weren’t on.

 _Big house for one dude,_ Dean reasoned in his head.

 _And his accountant,_ Sam thought.

He knocked, shave and a haircut, and waited. Charlie answered wearing a brown button down, jeans, and a grin with the smell of garlic and rosemary trailing him. Startling blue eyes gave Sam a once-over, and Sam found himself smiling back.

“Sam! Ted was worried the coyotes had eaten you.” Charlie said and moved for Sam to enter. “I tried to assure him that they prefer garbage over company.” He shrugged.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Sam said as he followed him towards the kitchen, “I was farther away than I thought. And I didn’t bring anything…”

“That’s fine. What’s mine is yours. No need for anything,” Charlie said as they reached the kitchen and the smell of food made Sam’s mouth water.

A man with salt-and-pepper hair stood at the stove giving the sauce a stir. He started when he turned to find Sam standing there.

“Well, I guess you were right. We weren’t making too much,” the man said with a self-conscious smile. “I’m Ted, by the way,” he extended his hand.

“Sam,” Sam replied, and shook. “Anything I can do to help?”

“So polite.” Crews handed Sam plates to set at the kitchen island. “All that time on the road, I guess you would pick up manners like you would souvenirs.”

Sam tried not to tense up. If he were a dog his hackles would have risen, along with ears and tail.

“What do you mean by that, Charlie?” Sam asked placing the plates on the granite top and edged back towards the foyer.

“You grew up on the road with your dad and your brother. According to your old friends at Stanford, you’ve been on a road trip. So I figured that would add up to a lot of time on the road. Change really is a constant for you.” Charlie shrugged, his smile intact.

“How did you…?” Sam told himself to be calm.

“It’s the darndest thing.” Charlie said and gestured off-handedly at the laptop that sat on the far end of the kitchen island. “That little contraption, it’s like living in the future. You can find anything with it, if you know just a few things. And there aren’t many sweet 1967 Chevy Impalas out there. Certainly not one that has been connected to mysterious circumstances around the country which survivors blog about. Only one connected to a John Winchester who lost his wife in a house fire and was survived by two children—Sam and Dean Winchester. You are that Sam. There was a picture. And the person attached to that car is Dean. And Dean is dead.” Charlie sounded sad at those last words, like he knew he had finished a piece of a puzzle and the end result wasn’t as spectacular as he hoped it would be.

“Enough.” Sam had stopped moving. He felt cold to the bone and hotly angry at the same time. Who did this guy think he was? Talked about his life and family like it was the most fascinating story. Even Dean was growling in his head.

“The mystery—the unknown wants to be known.” Charlie stated and walked toward Sam slowly, as if trying not to spook him. “Everything comes to light if it is hidden long enough. I’m just looking at what has already been seen. Connecting what has already been connected. I mean you no harm, Sam. I meant what I said earlier. I just want you to know what I know. Sometimes it’s easier when you don’t have to explain.” Charlie stopped when he reached Sam and placed a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. His other hand lifted, and Sam held his breath as those pale fingers almost grazed his cheek, but came to rest on Sam’s other shoulder. Charlie’s hands squeezed, released, and the detective moved to turn back to the kitchen.

“Tell absolute truths to strangers? Just like you know I know you were in jail for a crime you didn’t commit with a life sentence and were released when the case was reopened.” Sam said, feeling his anger deflate. He wanted badly to connect with someone. It had been too long since he had leaned on another person. He had been on his own for a length of time that stretched on endlessly behind him and before him—and here was someone telling him that he wasn’t alone.

“Exactly.” Charlie grinned. “Where are you going, Sam?”

“Nowhere, I guess,” Sam said, smiled a little.

“Good, ‘cause there’s food here,” Ted said with a polite cough. “And it’s ready.”  
******

The food was good—best he’d had in a long time. Sam even thought the wine was good, which Dean would have scoffed at in favor of beer. He only had a glass to keep Dean’s voice in his head quiet.

“So, you mean you don’t have any investments?” Ted asked. “It seems with such a dangerous job as demon hunting, you would have investments. Demon hunting should make enough money to have investments. I’d be glad to look at your portfolio.”

Sam, of course, had connected some of the more colorful dots in Crews’ rehashing of Sam’s life story. Sam figured that honesty was the best policy, especially since Charlie had been on the phone with a lot of people, from the detective in Baltimore to the Ghostfacers. They all said that they had been saved from weird things by the Winchesters (although what the Ghostfacers actually said was that they could possibly have been assisted by the Winchesters, but the brothers certainly didn’t deserve any credit in their investigation and/or movie rights).

Anyway, all that added up to demon-hunting, and Sam had explained the reason he was in town. Well, half —the omens part, not the get-his-brother-out-of-Hell part. Dean was still just too personal, and too liable to speak up inside his head, so he sidestepped those details. To Ted and Charlie, Dean was dead, that was enough.

“No money made from demon hunting,” Sam stated simply. “Or anything-hunting, for that matter.”

“What?!” Ted was aghast.

Sam just shrugged.

“Can’t you charge for your services or something? But what do you do for money? Wait, don’t tell me, I probably don’t want to be guilty by association.” Ted said, nodded to himself and reined in his questions.

“Good call, Ted.” Charlie said with a nearly unreadable expression. His eyebrows were furrowed in thought. Then he looked at Ted expectantly.

Ted seemed to take his cue. “Well, I guess I’ll go turn in. I might look into some sort of stock options you might want to consider, Sam.” He said as he went to the door.

“You don’t have to do that, Ted. Hunting is dangerous work. I probably won’t live long enough for it to benefit me,” Sam shrugged. It was a fact, the kind of fact that pounded home because of the loss of his brother, the kind of fact he pretended didn’t make his chest feel tight.

“Well, you might survive and find yourself in need. Besides, I’m good at what I do. Charlie would tell you, if he bothered to know anything about it.” Ted said in the doorway.

“You’re still mad at me for that whole job interview thing, aren’t you?” Charlie asked with a little wince.

“Mad is a state of mind that I currently am not, or whatever Zen guru thing you would say. Good night.” Ted called as he closed the door.

“So that’s Ted. Maker of tomato bisque, accountant, and mother hen that still might be a little mad – okay, miffed – that I almost ruined his interview for a professorship.” Charlie said with a genuine smile.

“Ted is cool. A little nervous, but cool.” Sam grinned back with the same sincerity. “Thank you for this.”

“Spoken like someone who is about to leave,” Charlie lifted an eyebrow, good humor still on his face and said with an air of puzzlement, “You don’t have to go. Stay here. There’s plenty of room. Actually, I think there may even be a spare bed in one of them. Though I’m not quite sure. I don’t always go through all of them.”

“Is that some sort of Zen thing, too?” Sam asked, trying to hide his smile.

“No, it’s just a big house.” Charlie said sagely as he scooted closer to Sam on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table.

Sam laughed. He could understand not knowing what to do with such a big house. He got lost finding the bathroom earlier. He thought of the omens. God, he was sick of strange weather and dead crops, but he knew that putting it off longer wouldn’t help anyone. Something must have shown on his face that made Crews speak.

“Be here now, Sam. Stay in the moment. Don’t think about what you have to do next. Stay. Here.” Sly grin, and those blue eyes seemed to twinkle with his words.

“Are you sure you want me to stay the night? You’d be harboring a fugitive.” Sam offered, understanding as he heard his own words that he didn’t want Crews to take the out. He couldn’t have said why. It might have been the charm of this ginger-haired man, or his kindness, or the underlying sadness. Or maybe because it had been so long since there had been anyone else. Too long. Sam didn’t remember what it was like to sleep, really sleep the way you can when you know you’re safe. Sam thought about closing the distance between them. It wouldn’t take much to reach out and place a hand on Charlie’s thigh, to make the first move. Grab on to something, the first solid-seeming thing he’d come across – or maybe just the first thing he had let himself consider reaching out for – in what felt like years.

“But technically, you’re supposed to be dead and I’m sure that your current paperwork would all check out.” Charlie said cheerfully.

“You’re not exactly a by-the-book kinda detective, are you?” Sam asked, and forced himself to still. Crews gave a cheeky grin and didn’t deny it. “Look, I appreciate the offer.” Sam stood and fought to not be moved by Charlie’s charm.

Crews mirrored him. “But you’re going to go anyway. Mind if I ask why?”

“I have to check out this situation.” Sam spoke, glancing away. It was true. He’d lost most of the daylight. He should have gone there first. He just dreaded the demon taunting him—telling him his brother was suffering, that there was nothing he could do. He should have called Ruby instead of Crews.

“Do you need help?” Charlie asked.

“No. I wouldn’t want to…” Sam struggled to find the words.

“Endanger a civilian?” Charlie offered and stood.

“Yeah, that’s part of it. Mostly, it’s not nice work dealing with demons.” Sam extended a hand.

Charlie took it with a wry smile. “The door will be open later. You should swing back by when you’re done.”

“It would be late,” Sam hedged, fought off a self-conscious smile, walked to the door.

“There will be coffee and fruit.” Charlie followed. “Have to land sometime, Sam. Here’s just as good a place as any.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see ya later then.” Sam opened the door and paused.

“Later,” Crews affirmed with a nod and a twinkle in his eye.

Sam couldn’t decide whether he wanted to find out how soft the detective’s lips were, or whether he wanted to run for the Impala like his life depended on it. Instead, he gave a half-smile and walked to his car, silently cursing himself, though whether he was angry for not leaving sooner or not staying, even Sam couldn’t tell for sure. Crews watched him as he drove away.  
*******  
The exorcisms went just as he had dreaded. He ended up in one of the nicer suburban areas just outside of the city proper. Four demons had possessed a family. He had to kill the father and the eldest teenager with Ruby’s knife after they rushed him-they caught him lining the windows with salt and sigils.

He told himself that he had no choice in killing them—he didn’t. They would have killed him, or at least tied him to a chair and proceeded to explain some of the more colorful tortures that Dean was suffering. _Maybe Dad, too._ Dean’s voice haunted his head, sometimes comforting, sometimes blaming. Justifying innocent death had never been easy.

He was able to subdue the mother and youngest with a Devil’s Trap he painted in the garage before he had snuck into the house. He practiced using his powers on them both, managing to save them even though they’d never be the same. He destroyed half their family. But he found it hard to feel sorry for them—he couldn’t fully separate the people from the demons inside them, their horrible words.

The headache that he had afterwards made him feel like his skull was trying to split open to the middle of his forehead—not to mention nauseous. Maybe using these new powers wasn’t worth it. _It’s not, Sam. You have to stop this._ “Shut up, Dean,” Sam groaned softly. He wanted nothing more than to lay in the backseat of the Impala and die or wait till his head stopped pounding, but he could hear the sirens in the distance. Help was coming for the survivors and he should be long gone before they arrived. Besides, he hadn’t been much help to anyone anyway.

He forced himself to drive, carefully, back to the heart of the city before doubling back to the hills. He was on autopilot as he returned to Charlie’s. He should have found a motel—one of the usual dives, but he didn’t. Maybe it was the food, but he knew there was more to it than that.

Whatever it was, he ended up on Charlie Crews’ sofa—too tired, too surprised to find the door actually unlocked, and too much of a mess to find that spare bedroom and bed.  
******  
Sam woke to find a blanket had been placed on him sometime while he slept. He heard someone puttering around in the kitchen and smelt coffee. He did the usual mental checklist upon waking, and found his headache to be gone.

“That isn’t where I expected to find you,” said Ted, placing a mug of coffee on the table in front of the bed-tousled Sam.

Sam wasn’t sure what Ted meant by that. “It’s not where I expected to find myself either.” Sam said and sat up. He gratefully took the cup and took a sip. He almost moaned at how good it tasted. “Thanks,” he said, a little breathless, and indicated the coffee.

“You’re welcome.” Ted smiled, pleased. “There’s some fruit on the counter in the kitchen. Charlie said you should try some of the star fruit. I would get you some, but I’m running a little late.”

Sam noticed how he was dressed—suit without a tie. “You’re a professor, right? Off to teach?” Sam asked.

“Yes, business. I’d ask if you wanted to sit in, but I’m sure it would bore you. Or at least, the other students would.” Ted grimaced. “Besides, you’ll probably want a shower and some more sleep.”

“Actually, I probably wouldn’t have minded, since apparently I need to pay more attention to my stock options,” Sam gave a little smile.

“Give a little advice, get mocked in return, I see how it is,” Ted muttered good-naturedly on his way to the door. “The bathroom is upstairs. I laid some towels out for you.”

Sam called a thank you and finished he cup of coffee. He scavenged some breakfast—the star fruit was delicious. He got his duffle out of the Impala and started his search for the upstairs bath and promised towels. It didn’t take too long.

After his shower he explored a little more and found Charlie’s room. In the closet, instead of clothes was an old-school evidence board. Brown-paper-covered walls were lined with pictures and articles with sharpie marker connecting some question marks in squares that looked like they were waiting to be filled. The closet reminded him of some of the walls from his childhood when his dad would work on a case. Well, not as messy, and with fewer freaky medieval woodcuts, but still.

Sam couldn’t make total sense of it at first. _Didn’t they find the real guy who committed those murders?_ He thought to himself.

“What else was going on?”Sam wondered to the walls. “A bigger cover-up?”

“Seems to be,” Charlie said behind him.

Sam turned, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry. I had no right to wander in and—I…”

“It’s okay. You hunt ghosts; I hunt the people who ruined my life.” Crews shrugged, wearing that crooked smile and a suit. “It’s a hobby.”

“Are you angry?” Sam asked and gave a glance at the evidence again. He thought he would be angry if he lost twelve years of his life getting his brother back. He’d only lost four years voluntarily, and the time he could have spent with his brother made him feel foolish and bitter now; Charlie had lost three times as much, and in prison, not college.

“Anger ruins joy. Steals away the calm. Overcoming anger leads to peace of mind. If I overcome anger, I can delight in the universe. It is the universe that makes fun of us all, but maybe the universe is just insecure.”

“You totally just deflected with a Zen spiel. It’s okay if you don’t want to answer. I’d get it.” Sam said, puzzled at the detective in front of him, who shrugged.

Crews smiled that whimsical smile that then changed to another smile, something softer, more real —a smile that held a promise. He removed his tie and hung it on the closet doorknob while unbuttoning the top few buttons of his dress shirt with that seductive grin in place.

Sam felt his face flush.

 _Just close the distance, you know you want to._

He wasn’t sure if that was him or Dean. Maybe he didn’t care.

Charlie made the decision for them with two steps forward. He reached out, took Sam’s face in his hands, rose up and kissed Sam deeply.

Charlie smelled like some sort of cologne’s musk and an underlying hint of tangerines. His mouth tasted like oranges and mint. It was so different but stirred all the familiar urges in Sam. He was breathless, hard and flushed with want.

“Mmmm,” Charlie mused, tasting. “You liked the star fruit.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, it was really good. I didn’t find any oranges though.”

“I just brought some back from the grove. Do you want to see the grove? It’s nice, in a middle of nowhere, no one would happen on to it kind of way.” Charlie offered.

“How about we go somewhere a little closer,” Sam proposed, surprising himself, but it felt right. It had been too long. Charlie certainly wasn’t Dean—wasn’t familiar at all. He needed this. Needed to feel someone’s hands on him, showing him that he was tangible, that he was real—that he was a part of the world, not ghosting through it taking his anger out on every evil creature that crossed his path. He could go back to brooding in self-doubt and frustration later. He could think about everything later.

Charlie smiled and kissed him again as he guided them back into the bedroom.

“May I?” he asked, hands on the bottom of Sam’s tee shirt. “I want to see you.”

“Yes,” Sam’s voice was low and the edge of needy.

Charlie pulled Sam’s shirt over his head, and then went to work getting Sam out of his pants. He stole another kiss and then made quick work of his own clothes, revealing a body Sam couldn’t help but admire. There was a quiet moment, intense, as they looked at each other. There were some things that were familiar, Sam realized, amending his earlier thoughts – still shorter than he, still startling eyes, still scarred and crooked in places from ill-healed fractures, still muscled and hard. Hard everywhere, Sam noticed with satisfaction. But different, too, paler and freckled, missing a tattoo, lighter stubble, clumsier scars around his abdomen, probably from shivs.

Charlie’s lips parted, but he didn’t say a word, as if he sensed Sam’s comparisons and didn’t mind, didn’t need to break the silence. Sam blinked, and a corner of his mouth drew up, showing a dimple as he leaned in closer, breathing Charlie in, gently nipping the other man’s shoulder, cheek and damp hair brushing collarbone and a sandpapery jaw. A deep hum of pleasure told Sam he had the right idea. Charlie licked the hollow of Sam’s throat in return, smiled contentedly, and reached behind him to retrieve the condoms and lube from the nightstand drawer.

Charlie paused and tilted his head, pursed his lips.

“What, Charlie?” Sam asked the shorter man, hoping.

“You know what,” Charlie said with a little smile as his hands trailed up and down Sam’s sides.

“Say it.” Sam said.

“I want to fuck you, Sam. If that’s what you want.” Charlie said, hands trailing to stroke Sam’s cock.

Sam groaned and tried to keep himself from grinding against the smaller man’s hands. “Yes,” he gasped, licking his lips, “that’s what I want.”

“Good,” Charlie said and playfully shoved Sam onto the bed. Momentarily surprised, Sam lay there. And then Charlie was on him, kissing his mouth, tongue parting his lips and explored as Charlie’s hand cupped his balls. Sam groaned and his eyelids fluttered.

Charlie moved to spread Sam’s long legs and encouraged them to wrap around his middle. He smiled as he slid the condom on his hard length. “You are so beautiful,” Charlie told him and lubed up. The lube left on his fingers he used to slide into Sam. “Sad and beautiful.”

Sam gasped, “Fuck!” as Charlie found that bundle of nerves and added another finger. “More, Charlie,” Sam moaned and arched against those fingers. Pre-come leaked out of his own cock. “Inside,” Sam gasped. He wanted this so badly. Someone taking control—someone making him feel something else. He needed it like breathing. “Inside me, fuck, now, please...”

In response, Charlie smiled down at Sam as he removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock. He slid in slowly, so slowly. Charlie’s eyes closed, awash in the sensation of Sam’s hot tightness, a delicious slow burn. Not inch by inch, but millimeter by millimeter Sam felt it, watched Charlie feel it, and only then succumbed, eyelids fluttering closed.

A ragged groan. Charlie wasn’t sure who’d split the silence, but he knew he was in Sam Winchester to the hilt, and the beautiful boy looked dazed, decadent, and just on the edge of panic.

“Sam… be here? Here with me, in this moment? “ Sam looked up at Charlie, drawing him back into focus. A freckled hand gently brushed the hair out of Sam’s eyes.

“Here.” Sam smiled, and touched Charlie’s shoulder. “Yeah.” Charlie’s cock twitched inside him in response. “Fuck, yeah.” Then Charlie began to thrust. A few slow strokes soon became a quick slick-slide causing Sam to moan with each brush of the prostate. Sam’s heels dug against Charlie’s back, his hands grasped Charlie’s biceps, and the room filled with the sticky-hot smell of sex.

“Damn, I—Charlie, god, shit, fuck…”

Charlie was a solid shore to Sam’s gentle flood of invective, pulling him in and anchoring him with coaxing and reassurances.

“Yes, good, c’mon, stay here with me, Sam, yes.” The redhead punctuated with snaps of his hips, and Sam began gasping for air, precum smearing under his navel as his back arched.

“Look at me, Sam,” Charlie demanded. “Look.”

Sam’s hazel eyes met startling blue and felt he was on the brink of everything.

“Let go. Come for me, Sam,” Charlie requested and Sam did. He came in waves, with each additional stroke, his belly wet with it.

Charlie thrust twice more into the stuttering grasp of Sam’s tight hole and came. He took a minute to catch his breath, resting between Sam’s legs, hand splayed on Sam’s stomach. They panted together, spent. He gently slid out of Sam and disposed of the used condom in the wastebasket. He grabbed a towel and wiped Sam’s stomach while Sam lay there limbless, grunting a thanks.

He crawled onto the bed beside Sam and lay on his back beside him, arms touching.  
“Thank you, Charlie,” Sam said after a little while.

“We are all connected, Sam. Can’t forget that. Otherwise everything changes and you are connected to nothing. ” Charlie shrugged. “Try not to be connected to nothing Sam. Remember you are attached. Attached keeps you anchored. Keeps you real.”

Sam let the words soak in and hoped that he could hold onto them, but he feared he wouldn’t. The words felt like they were slipping away like water out of a stream. He hadn’t heard Dean say a word in his head since last night. He closed his eyes to rest and prayed that somehow it would get easier. Mostly he tried to cling to this moment before everything changed again.

“I could really get attached to this car,” Charlie said, his hand stuck out the passenger window, riding the wind like a wave.

It had been two days since Sam had met Detective Charlie Crews. Sam was still in LA. He couldn’t bring himself to leave and even let Charlie talk him into seeing the new Indiana Jones movie. But, he would have to soon. There were whispers of omens back East. Besides, he didn’t like being so far from where he planted Dean.

 _Don’t think about that_ , Sam told himself. He needed to be present in the here and now.

“But it would still be just a car to you,” Sam said, and memory flashed to the thousands of times he rode in the car with his brother. From Winslow counting prairie dogs in the desert to Maine watching the maple leaves glimmer in the afternoon light.

“But you are not attached to this car, just the idea of the car and what it represents,” Crews mused doing that clever perceptive thing he seemed to be so good at.

“Geez, this grove really is in the middle of nowhere,” Sam muttered, changing the subject.

“Yes, but it is much more pleasant than my solar farm. Too bright on the solar farm and an elderly couple lives in the farmhouse beside it—though they don’t live on a farm, per se. Maybe it’s just the idea of a farm. Anyway, they don’t take kindly to lewd displays,” Charlie grinned eyes twinkled with mischief.

“And is that what we’re doing? A lewd display?” Sam asked as he smiled back.

“No. We’re going to fuck bare-naked in an orange grove. Nothing lewd about it. I brought a blanket,” Charlie reasoned. “Besides, they just don’t appreciate some techniques in self tanning—if I were the kinda guy who tanned.”

Sam’s half-hard cock twitched at the thought of being fucked in an orange grove. He wouldn’t have thought that he possessed that kink.

“Imagine that,” Sam said, proud of how calm he sounded, and tried to concentrate on driving once more.

After a couple more miles of winding road Charlie indicated that Sam should pull off. He parked the Impala and cut the engine admiring the heavy limbed orange trees as far as the eye could see.

Charlie gave Sam a playful grin, grabbed the blanket, then slapped Sam’s arm and announced, “Tag!”

With glee, he threw the door open, slammed it behind and took off haphazardly running into the grove while Sam tried to shake off his surprise. He laughed to himself and took off after the charmingly absurd detective.

Sam didn’t rush, meandering to and fro between trees. He tried not to fall on any fruit as he enjoyed the sun.

He caught up with Charlie halfway into the grove. Charlie had already spread the blanket out in a shady spot and sat Indian style, naked on the center of the blanket meditating or at least pretending to meditate.

 _Fast for such a small guy_ , Sam thought and stopped at the edge of the blanket, admiring. Charlie seemed to glow. Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the pale skin, maybe it was the calm that radiated from him. It was a sight either way. A nice sight.

Charlie opened one eye and smiled that secret smile of before—the smile that promised anything and everything.

“That was a new one,” Sam said as he kicked off his shoes and pulled his tee shirt over his head.

Charlie opened both eyes and grinned outright. His eyes trailed down Sam’s chest taking in every scar. “The look on your face was something to behold.”

“I bet,” Sam said and unzipped his pants. He let them bunch around his ankles then pulled his boxers off. Charlie’s breath caught.

“Beautiful,” Charlie said, simply.

Sam frowned as he stepped out of his pants.

“Of course you would disagree,” Charlie said softly and extended his hand.

Sam took it and allowed himself to be pulled down onto his knees as Charlie shifted to squat in front of Sam.

Sam shrugged in response.

To answer or prove his point, Charlie kissed him, his tongue parted Sam’s lips. They explored each other’s mouths more thoroughly than they had before; tasting the melon they had for lunch and nibbling on lips. Sam let his hand wander down to Charlie’s hard cock. He started stroking, causing Crews to moan into his kiss.

“Doesn’t make it less true,” Charlie whispered with his swollen lips and encouraged Sam to take position on all fours. Sam obliged as Charlie rolled a condom on his length and lubed up.

He used his slick fingers to slide into Sam causing him to groan and rock against them. Second finger quickly followed the first soon joined by a third gently opened Sam to the ready.

“Charlie,” Sam moaned then groaned when Charlie brushed against the prostate.

“You are beautiful, Sam,” Charlie insisted and guided his cock deep to the hilt, his balls brushed against Sam’s ass. His hands rested on Sam’s hips.

Sam gasped at the feeling and willed himself to still. To be overwhelmed with the intimacy of it until he could come to his senses again. He rocked against Crews as he started to thrust meeting him eagerly.

They could only grunt and moan with each frantic thrust. The smell of sex and oranges was thick in the air like musk. Charlie reached around and stroked Sam’s cock in time with each thrust. Each stroke threatened to undo Sam, with pain or pleasure he wasn’t entirely sure.

Sam didn’t know how long they were joined like that. How many times Charlie breathed the word “beautiful” into Sam’s ear and the back of his neck or if he would have a hickey where Charlie kept nipping at the top of his shoulder. He didn’t know how many times he groaned “Charlie” like a mantra trying to ground himself. Either way, Sam came completely unglued and Charlie followed right after. They collapsed onto the blanket with their limbs entangled, breathing heavy the sun shined through the tree leaves above them.

Charlie’s cell phone disturbed their afterglow. He answered after a full scale search of his pants.

“Crews,” he said into it, sounding just this side of sexed out. “Reese, why do you only call me when someone’s dead?”

Sam propped himself up on his elbows and watched as Crews hung up his phone and started to pull on his clothes.

“Duty calls?” Sam asked and began to put on his clothes as well.

“Yep, gotta do that job thing.” Crews said as he tossed nearby oranges on the blanket, pocketing a couple as he went. He gathered the corners and tossed onto his back after Sam had dressed. “You should take a few of these for the road. Wouldn’t want a ghost hunter to catch scurvy.”

“Do people even catch scurvy anymore?” Sam wondered out loud and followed Crews out of the grove and back to the car.

“I don’t know. Seems like a pirate thing. You could be considered a little bit of a pirate, if you squint.” Crews shrugged as he gently put the makeshift sack of oranges in the back seat of the Impala.

They drove back to the hills so Charlie could get his own car and a change of less rumpled clothes. In the driveway, Sam gave Charlie a hug and couldn’t find the words he wanted to say.

Charlie smiled. “You’re welcome, Sam” he said and gave him a pat on the back.

Sam answered with a dimpled half-grin.

Charlie waved as Sam drove off and Sam thought maybe he had a little more hope to go on.


End file.
